Harry Potter and the New Alliance
by Snuffles2
Summary: Title subject to change. In a last ditch effort to seize immortality for himself, Voldemort accidentally breaks a curse, releasing something that may change the shape of all the battles to come, right before the eyes of a certain young hero...HPLOTR
1. Prolouge

Title: Harry Potter and the New Alliance (Subject to change at later date)  
  
Author: Snuffles  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Warnings: Spoliers for HP books 1-5, and all the LotR books and movies.  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own any of the characters or places. Never will. :sigh:  
Authors Notes: I come back to you now, at the turn of the tide...wait...that's not right....x_X;; Er...anyway...  
  
I know, you all probably hate me currently. I haven't updated for months...and here I am with a new story. I am really sorry about the lack of updates...I wasn't sure after some RL issues (School, my father disowning me, finals, Sirius dieing) if I was going to ever write again. But, the plot bunnies hid inside my bed and attacked me while I slept. Thank them and get me some gause before I bleed to death. Darn sharp teeth... x_x;;  
The Good News: Right after I post this I'm going to be writing a new chapter to both Embarrassing Aragorn and The Gold Book. So don't kill me! Please! I hope you enjoy this story as much as you enjoy the other ones. Personally, I think it's a lot better.  
  
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Prologue  
  
It was a last ditch effort, in reality. Even the brainless imbeciles that cowered at his feet could see that. It was based on the babbling of some crazed old man with enough strength in his bones and enough spare time on his hands to go digging through thousands of years of history to find a few vague sentences written by some other crazed old man who had been just as bored and had the same amount of spare time to spend chasing geese. However, there still was a chance, no matter how slim, that their tall tales held the key to what he desired most.  
  
Immortality.  
He snarled in disgust at the weeping creature that was wailing into its arms, curled in a tight, shuddering ball. He kicked the cage it huddled in, letting his thin lips purse together in grim satisfaction as the wails and terrified screams became louder. Why, of all the creatures that populated this world, both foul and fair, did his greatest desire lie in this desolate creature, whose only reason to live was to serve its wizard master? Was this how Fate amused herself? He could feel the faceless mouth grin, mocking him where he stood, looming like a statue over the writhing, pitiful creature whose disfigured body would soon become his own.  
How he hated that grin.  
Raising himself to his full height, he sent the silent call that would have his most trusted scrambling to him; it was time. 


	2. Chapter One: Dreams and Visions

Title: Harry Potter and the New Alliance (Subject to change at later  
date)  
  
Author: Snuffles  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Warnings: Spoliers for HP books 1-5, and all the LotR books and movies.  
  
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or places and never will. :sighs:  
  
Authors Notes: Woot! Two chapters at once! Don't expect this to happen ever again. X_x But do expect quick updates, I'm on break! The only time I won't be able to be write is Christmas Day and the two days following. Yay!  
  
And if you can't tell who it is that shows up, you need serious help. Either that, or, well, you don't know me at all. X3  
  
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Chapter One-Dreams and Visions  
  
Hundreds of miles away, a thin, wild-haired boy sat motionless on his thin, tattered bed, surrounded by untouched parcels, all on which his name was scrawled. He knew, even without releasing the contents from their cardboard and paper confinements, what they held. Each held a different object that had no real value in the grand scheme of things, but clicked and whirled enough to trick the casual passerby. Also included were short letters laced with sympathy and pity, neither of which he desired. It did not matter if the entire world sobbed for his loss; it would change nothing. It would not change the fact that the one person in the world whom he would have loved to call family was dead, lost in body and soul. It did not change the fact that an entire world looked to him, a young boy who had just turned sixteen no more than ten minutes ago, as a savior. It did not change the fact that any time he closed his eyes, the dark lord would send him visions of murders so terrible that he would wake retching, yet at the same time wishing the same fate for himself.  
He did not want to close his eyes. He did not want to see whatever horror was in store for him this night. Some things, however, cannot be stopped, and the will of the Lord of Dreams is one of them. Harry Potter would sleep, yes, and see the event that may very well change the shape of the battles to come.  
  
If he had not suffered such things every night since the death of his godfather, he would have dismissed the events playing before his eyes as a dream. He saw the death eaters first, all huddled in a circle, eyes made dark by the faceless masks they wore, staring at something curled into a sobbing mass on the floor. He started to turn away, not wishing to see the face of whatever poor victim Voldemort had captured, nor the new tortures he had conjured up. Yet something made him pause; maybe it was the abnormally high pitch of the sobbing, or the fact that none of the death eaters were laughing, nor smiling wickedly as they were prone to do when they had prey to satisfy their morbid cravings. He turned back around, his footsteps like lead as he walked towards the dark robed figures. His skin prickled as he stepped unnoticed through one of the death eaters in a way akin to a phantom.  
  
Tear-filled eyes met his. They were green in color; not the emerald color of his own, but green as new leaves in the first days of spring. He stood for a second, enthralled; he saw the tears, yes, and terror, much like the terror that he had seen in all the eyes of Voldemort's victims. Yet there was something more. Something prowled deep in those eyes, underneath the terror; something wild, yet mesmerizing; it was curled in the darkness, screaming volumes of sorrow and anger that Harry had felt only once before, during the days following his godfather's demise. Then the moment passed; leathery eyelids squeezed shut over the eyes, drawing Harry's eyes to the deformed, goblin-like body of the creature. A house elf.  
  
The absurdness of the whole situation nearly made him laugh. The death eaters were all so silent, fixated on a little house elf that barely came up to their knees; yet they were tense, as if they expected the wailing creature to leap up, all teeth and claws. His mirth was quickly squashed, however, as a familiar figure strode forward. A dark tongue flashed over thin, milky-white lips; his restless eyes, glowing like embers in the semi-darkness, seemed to pierce the soul of everyone assembled. Finally they rested with a predatory grace on the little house elf, whose sobs caught in its throat as it tried to scramble backwards. It then smacked its head into the floor with a whine; it must have been commanded to stay where it sat. Harry felt bile inch up the back of his throat. This was wrong.  
  
There was a rustling of parchment as Voldemort opened an old book. The binding was tattered and failing; the pages were yellowed with age and stains. A long white finger traced the letters, eyes following until it found what he desired.  
When the chanting started, Harry's head began to swim. The words would have been beautiful, had Voldemort's foul lips not twisted them into curses. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and he shivered involuntarily. The house elf screamed, writhing as thin wisps of green and silver magic wound its way around the gangly body. It was light and darkness all in one, tearing and mending with a single, pulsating motion. The screams continued. Harry looked towards Voldemort, nearly panting with the effort it took to tear his eyes away from the chaos in the center. To his surprise, he saw no smugness, no satisfaction; all that he saw was confusion, and anxiety. Voldemort did not know what he was doing; he did not know what the spell was going to do the elf. This fact made Harry's blood run cold. It was a morbid sense of security that he had, whenever he watched the horrible scenes that the death eaters created. At the very least he knew what was going to happen; everything was set in stone, with no surprises. Here, however, the outcome of the twisting magic was anyone's guess. That frightened him.  
  
The screams stopped.  
  
Harry's head snapped back towards the center. The light was dimming, and he could hear soft gasps. He peered into the light, searching for what remained of the poor elf. Green eyes, the color of new leaves, met his, full of rage, sorrow, and an unnamable power, something ancient and perilous that had not been seen on the face of this world for uncountable ages. Slowly, as if in a dream, the eyes closed and reopened.  
  
Then all hell broke loose. 


	3. Chapter Two: Fight and Flight

Dislaimer: Don't own. Nope.   
  
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A bolt of spell light blasted past the new owner of the green eyes, who spun in a flash of   
  
golden hair and white linen. A booted foot struck the unfortunate spell caster in the chest, the   
  
force of the blow causing him to fall over in an ungraceful heap. Voldemort screeched an order for   
  
them to halt, and all motioned paused for a moment, just long enough for Harry to get a good look   
  
at the victim turned attacker.  
  
No longer was the house elf goblin-like and weeping; his new frame was tall and slender,   
  
graceful like a young willow, and his porcelain face were stained with no grimy tear trails, but was   
  
as a statue's. To Harry it seemed like a Muggle angel had stepped into the arena, for no human   
  
he had ever seen matched the supernatural beauty the elf now possessed, nor the unearthly   
  
grace in which he dodged another spell, this one cried out by Voldemort himself.   
  
The unruly spell struck another Death Eater, causing the black robed figure to crumble to   
  
the ground. Harry saw the elf's expression turn from one of focused anger to one of unabashed   
  
shock. For the first time since the change, he saw fear flash in the creature's green eyes.   
  
In another sudden movement, the tall figure raced across the still silent circle of Death   
  
Eaters, felling another with a similar sharp kick, but this one hit the jaw, and Harry swore he heard   
  
the snap of bone. Voldemort lunged at him, as the group of dark wizards recoiled in sudden fear.  
  
The spidery hand clenched itself around the pale wrist of the elf, the other swinging a   
  
dark wooded wand high, preparing to launch another spell. The elf grasped the wand with his free   
  
hand, locking the two into a power struggle. Harry's teeth dug into his lip, almost hard enough to   
  
draw blood, silently wishing that he could help, but he had no true form in the visions, and as   
  
always was forced only to watch.   
  
With a jerk the elf secured Voldemort's wand; another swift movement sent the rod of   
  
wood through one glowing red eye with a sickening squish. Voldemort's shriek sent chills up and   
  
down Harry's spine; no living creature should have been able to make that sound. The dark   
  
wizard stumbled backwards, clawing at his face, fingers slipping in the quickly forming stream of   
  
his own blood.   
  
Only Harry saw the golden-haired figure dart down the hall; he scampered after, passing   
  
through the swinging door without difficulty. It was several moments until he heard the thumping   
  
of footsteps, companied by Voldemort's screech of 'Catch him!!' The front door creaked   
  
mournfully as it was nearly ripped off its hinges with the force that it was slammed open. Several   
  
Death Eaters caught up with him, having longer strides; they reached the porch at the same   
  
moment, Harry not bothering to use the door and instead passed through the wall.   
  
They screeched spells, from stupefy to crucio, at the fleeing figure, light slamming into   
  
the dewy grass of pre-morning as the figure's speed allowed him to keep in front of the hexes.   
  
Harry held his breath, silently cheering the elf on; a zigzagging line of light slammed into the   
  
figure, sending him off his feet. He hit the soft ground and rolled, dirt clinging to his white tunic   
  
and long hair.   
  
He lay still.   
  
Harry cried out in dismay. "Get up! Run!" Cried the young wizard, terrified for this being   
  
that he did not even know. Too often had he seen the Death Eaters kill; too often had he seen the   
  
games they played.   
  
There was a twitch of muscle, Harry's breath caught once more in his throat. Suddenly   
  
the figure pushed himself up with his arms, long legs pulling him back to standing. The Death   
  
Eater's gasped in unison, allowing the elf enough time to flee once more, and leap with a single   
  
fluid motion into the safety of a lone oak tree.  
  
The others began to scramble again, slipping on the wet grass in an effort to surround the   
  
tree. Harry followed them, joining in the attempt to search out the figure that must be hidden   
  
amongst the tree limbs. No glimpse of cloth or hair made itself known; not a single leaf twitched.  
  
"Impossible." Murmured one wizard, whose voice Harry recognized as belonging to the   
  
father of one of his school mates, Goyle, who was just as dull as his gorilla of a son. Harry was   
  
frankly surprised that he could use such a big word.  
  
"He must of apperated." Came the squeaky suggestion of another.  
  
"But he did not have a wand…did he?" Asked one uncertainly.   
  
"Did that thing need a wand?"   
  
"What was it anyway?" There were various whispers, most just concluding that no one   
  
had any idea.   
  
"Lollygagging spits of worthless fools!" Screeched a voice from the porch; it was a voice   
  
that made Harry's blood boil. He turned to see the mad eyes of his godfather's murderer flashing   
  
with anger. "Master wants him found! Stop staring up at that tree like a bunch of dismal jesters   
  
and spread out! He cannot have gone far!"   
  
"But he went in the tree!" This unfortunate speaker doubled over as a crucio spell   
  
slammed him in the stomach. He writhed in the grass, squealing sounds of pain. The other   
  
wizards decided that it would be much safer to comply with the witch's orders, and scattered.   
  
Bellatrix turned on her heel with a 'humpf!' and strode back in the house.  
  
Harry waited until the crucio victim crawled off with his colleagues before staring back up   
  
into the tree's thick branches, wondering where the elf was now. He was soon answered, for the   
  
figure he was searching for leapt to the ground silently; he landed on his feet, but quickly rocked   
  
forward, reaching his hands to catch himself before he fell. Harry frowned, but soon saw the   
  
reason as the elf curled his arm around to his left side, where a stain of red could be seen   
  
seeping into the threads of the tunic. Slowly, the elf rose, his movements quick but slightly off   
  
rhythm as he ran like a deer chased by wolves into the darkness.   
  
Sunlight burned itself through Harry's eyelids.  
  
It was over.   
  
Harry pushed off the thin covers of his rickety bed off of himself, nearly falling off in his   
  
haste to get up. He dropped to his hands and knees on the hardwood floor of his bedroom,   
  
pulling a loose board from beneath his bed. Digging in the darkness, he secured a piece of   
  
parchment and his ink bottle; a bit more shuffling and he pulled free a slightly battered quill. The   
  
parchment had a few questions from his summer charms homework on it, but at the moment he   
  
did not care. He almost spilled the ink in his haste.   
  
'Hermione,' He wrote quickly, eyes straining to see in the gray dawn light. 'Tell me   
  
everything you know about elves.' He did not bother to sign his name; Hermione knew his   
  
handwriting, and would recognize Hedwig anyhow. He rushed to the cage of said owl, rousing her   
  
from her deep slumber. She hooted angrily at him, and nipped at his fingers, but he pulled her out   
  
none the less.  
  
"I am really sorry Hedwig, but I need you to take this to Hermione, as quick as you can   
  
fly." The owl blinked her amber eyes slowly, then stuck out her right leg, allowing the letter to be   
  
tied to it with a piece of string. Harry flung open the window, and sent the owl on her way. He then   
  
collapsed back on his bed, staring at the off white ceiling, the events of the previous night and the   
  
anticipation of Hermione's answer swirling through his head.   
  
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Author's Notes: I hope you are enjoying! This chapter took forever! I kept rewriting the first   
  
sentence over and over…about 50 times. X_x;; And my *darkling* muses were no help. _   
  
LL: Oh yeah, we were supposed to be working, weren't we? Ooops…   
  
Diri: Do not blame it on me, I'm new.   
  
Snuffles: :sighs: Well…anyway…just so you know, at least two more of the fellowship will show   
  
up in this story! Yay! ^_^   
  
  
  
Little Witch: :blush: Thank you very much! Er…I doubt this counts as soon…but the third chapter   
  
is half written! Yay!   
  
  
  
SilverKnight7: :bows: As you wish.   
  
  
  
Little Lost One: Er…so it isn't exactly soon…the third chapter will be sooner!!   
  
  
  
Incensio Lady- I'm glad you like it!   
  
  
  
Weasley Twins Lover 1112: I'm glad you think so!   
  
  
  
JLCollett: ^ ^ Yay! Nice to hear from you Jessica! I'm glad you like my descriptiveness; I'm afraid I   
  
put in too much sometimes. 


	4. Chapter Three: Enter the King

Chapter Three: Enter The King  
  
Author's Notes: Gosh, this one is short, and not nearly as exciting.. O.o But it answers that nagging question!! And came a lot faster than Chapter Two.  
  
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Aragorn Telcontar, former King of Gondor, reincarnated fellowship member, wizard, and well known mad researcher of things that did not exist, was not at all happy with his current situation. He was wet, tired, and broke as a street peddler. The last problem was the only reason he had to deal with the first two; otherwise he would be in nice warm Spain, talking through some archeological dig with Gimli, or perhaps going through some old Wizarding books on history he had dug out of the library. However, thanks to bloody fate, he had to be standing here at the doors to a giant castle, waiting in the rain for someone to let him in.  
  
When Aragorn had written to the Headmaster of Hogwarts in response to the add for the Defense Against Dark Arts position, the answer had been almost immediate. The Headmaster had sounded delighted; he barely asked any questions about Aragorn's former history of education and knowledge of the dark arts. Not very wise for a man who had formerly hired two death eaters, a werewolf, and two other teachers who had resigned under strange and glossed over circumstances, but Aragorn figured that the poor wizard needed whoever he could get.   
  
After what seemed like eternity, an old, greasy looking man that for some strange reason reminded Aragorn strongly of Denethor answered the door, an equally old cat peering out from behind his legs with giant orange eyes. "Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" He croaked, peering over Aragorn with suspicious eyes.   
  
"Yes." Replied the tall man irritably.   
  
"Come in, Dumbledore's been expecting you since dawn." The man tottered off without even an introduction, leaving Aragorn to catch the quickly closing door with one hand and stride after him. They walked in silence, no sound except the sound of the old man's feet pattering down the stone hall, and the occasional whispers of half-asleep portraits.   
  
When they reached the stone gargoyle half imbedded in the wall, the man croaked something that sounded suspiciously like "ice mice" and the gargoyle turned to reveal a staircase that led the pair up into a cozy office, that somehow managed not to look cluttered even though pictures and objects of all sizes lined the room. A fire colored bird that Aragorn recognized as a phoenix crooned musically as they entered, causing a pair of sparkling blue eyes to look towards them.  
  
Aragorn was instantly reminded of Gandalf; the wizard sitting behind the desk had the same amazingly long white hair and beard, strange pointy hat, and sparkling blue eyes that seemed to miss nothing while keeping everything secret.   
  
"Ah, Aragorn, what a pleasure. Please, take a seat." Aragorn sunk into one of the cushioned chairs, fidgeting a bit uncomfortably under the all knowing stare of the older wizard. The old man who had lead Aragorn to the office tottered off once more while muttering under his breath, not bothering with any goodbyes or good wishes.  
  
"I just wanted to inform you of some things that are essential to life here at Hogwarts..." Aragorn could not help but drift off slightly as Dumbledore ran through batches of rules and regulations, locations of bathrooms, and the what not.   
  
The vision hit him suddenly, as did the pain. Green and silver light dominated his vision, and pins and needles ran up and down all the expanses of his skin. He felt like someone was tearing him apart, yet at the same time stitching him together like he was an old rag doll. He heard several cries, all too familiar; Gimli's gruff roar, Frodo's high cry, Sam's yell, Merry's cursing, Pippin's squeak of sudden surprise, even Boromir's hoarse shout...then grass green eyes snapped shut and open, and the moment passed.  
  
"Aragorn! Aragorn!" Aragorn found himself looking up into Dumbledore's twinkling eyes, which were now full of worry. He was off the chair and on his knees; how had that happened? "Are you alright?" Inquired the older wizard quickly. "What happened?"  
  
"I...I do not know...but I'm fine, I'm fine." He stood up quickly, dislodging Dumbledore's hands on his shoulders. 'Great...' He thought. 'First impression given too his new boss: he's bloody nuts. Way to go Aragorn.'  
  
"Perhaps you should rest. It is late and I have kept you up long enough. Come, let me show you too your room." Aragorn stumbled after the Headmaster, rubbing his temples with his free hand, other picking up his slightly battered suitcase and following. He mumbled a small 'good night' to the other wizard, not even bothering to undress after closing the door, striding instead to the bed and collapsing on it.   
  
He had heard all of them, all of those whose trace he had been searching for two and a half life times; could they be alive, reincarnated just as he and Gimli had been? Were they out there somewhere? Why had he not found them? What of the immortal pieces of their party, Gandalf and Legolas? Still away in the Undying Lands, at peace? 'No.' His mind told him. That was not right. He had not heard Gandalf nor Legolas cry out, but those eyes he would ever recognize as belonging to the golden-haired Prince of Mirkwood.  
  
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Silver Knight: That answer your question? Thanks for reviewing? ^^  
  
Little Witch: Yay! My first reviewer!! ^___^ Let's just say lots...poor little elvsies...  
  
Luntetuurewen: I'm glad that you are enjoying it! ^^  
  
WeasleyTwinsLover1112: Eventually...^^ You will know when I do. O.o;; I'm making it up as I go along.  
  
Hinomi: I updated soon!! ^__^ But it's shorter... o.o;;; I'm sorry! I'll try and do better.  
  
Lady of the Rings: Wheeee! I'm so glad you like.  
  
The One Hobbit: Everything will be explained in time...hopefully...o_o No, this will not be a Hermione/Legolas romance. They kind of freak me out. X_x;; In fact, I doubt there will be any romances whatsoever. Thanks for reviewing. 


	5. Chapter Four: Obsessions and Sorrow

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own. If I did, I wouldn't be writing Fanfiction, now would I?   
  
Author's notes: Look! It's longer! Yay!! Almost three typed pages. So don't hurt me! :squeak:  
  
I've never updated stories this quickly. @_@ I'm having so much fun writing this, it's beginning to become an obsession. Wheee...enjoy, and leave your tidings if you will by clicking that lovely little review button.  
  
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Hermione's reply came quickly, Hedwig stumbling through the air under the weight of the stack of parchment and large book that she had been sent with. Hermione was ecstatic that Harry was 'so interested in her cause, and finally decided to really help her help those poor house elves,' and must have sent him every scrap of paper she owned that even vaguely thought about the elves.  
  
The book was old and boring as Mrs. Figg's 'Kitty Album,' but it kept his mind distracted. It stopped him from spending his days thinking about the darkness that loomed over head, worrying about the events happening in the Wizarding world, and pining for someone who he would never see again...  
  
He spent long hours in his room, turning the worn pages carefully, squinting at the small print in which the information of the book was written in, venturing out only when his stomach or bladder insisted on it. Even the Dursleys began to get worried, whether for his health or their own safety, peering at him strangely as he crept to take food from the fridge (they never stopped him anymore; the warning they had received at the end of the school year was apparently still fresh in their mind), or padded down the long hall to the bathroom.  
  
He dug through the parchment, and he scrutinized every passage of the book, constantly sending letters to Hermione asking nit-picky questions. Her answers, however, normally informative and helpful, only drew him further into confusion; no sentence hinted towards the elves being anything but slaves, no word gave hint to any creature like the golden-haired figure who had fought the Death Eaters and escaped. However, by the same token, nothing mentioned of the time before the house elves were servants of wizards and witches world wide; it seemed no one knew where they came from, or why, leaving Harry's slowly seeding theories of their origin grow without impediment.   
  
Time seemed to fly now that he was occupied; it was not until his list for school supplies arrived that he realized how near the school year was to beginning. He darted off his bed, quickly digging through the letters from Ron and the others which lay forgotten; well, perhaps not forgotten...he remembered writing back, however the letters had been short and to the point; he had even turned down Ron's request to visit for the remainder of the summer. He did not need Mrs. Weasley peering over his shoulder every moment and coddling him like an infant when such grief as his still loomed threateningly over his heart. The Dursleys were not so bad this summer, anyway; he doubted that more than a few words had passed between him and the other members of the household since the summer began.  
  
He scribbled a letter to Ron and his family, inquiring if he could come over for the last week or two of summer so that he could acquire his school supplies. He already knew the answer, even before he gave Hedwig the letter; still, he was not keen on just showing up on the Weasley's doorstep like a rag-tag runaway. He opened the window wide, allowing Hedwig to flap out, her long wings beating silently as she soared into the air. He watched her until she became one with the clouds, before turning back to the now much read parchment scattered across his bed. Silently, with a final glance out the window, he wondered where the elf was now.  
  
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Elves, much like cats, the only creatures that can seem to match their otherworldly mystery and grace, have a keen sense of home. You can place an elf anywhere in the world, spin them about countless times, and push them off in some random direction, and they still would manage to find their way back to whatever place they called their motherland.  
  
Legolas Greenleaf was no different from the others of his kin in this respect. Even years of imprisonment, soul leaping from the quick lives of the goblin creatures that shared his people's name to another, added with the complete change of geography and the loss of all things he knew familiar could not stop him from finding Mirkwood.   
  
It was dark, full of things for which he had no name; the trees were strange and silent, their hearts dark. The air was close and near suffocating, much like it had been in the forest of Fangorn, and darkness crawled from bough to bough without hindrance;, Yet it still brought him a small bit of comfort, like no other thing could in the strange time he found himself in.   
  
He lay in the branches of a large tree, which allowed him footing though its malice was ever brooding. He tried to fall to dreams, letting his mind wander to white shores and golden fields, where his kin laughed and played, but it only made him remember more the curse that lay upon the once fair people, from which none were exempt, not even those strong and powerful, like the fair Lady Galadriel, or the wise Lord Elrond.  
  
'Funny that I,' he thought, 'of all the powerful Eldar that there are residing in the goblin bodies of the house elves, would be the one released. One Prince whose only boast was that he had followed the King of Gondor into the last battle against Sauron the Deceiver.' He wept then, for his own loneliness, for the state of his beloved forest, and most of all for those of his kin that still lay cursed, doomed to the bodies of hideous slaves.  
  
Even the darkest of the hearts that dwelled in the Forbidden Forest that lay on the edge of Hogwarts quavered as the song of the one free elf in the world rose above the tree tops in a mournful melody.  
  
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The second Harry stepped off the Knight Bus, which had halted with a loud 'BANG!' in front of the Burrow, he was assaulted by Mrs. Weasley, her questions muffled by the bear hug she captured him in. Ron gave an uneasy smile from where he stood on the left of Harry, looking like he was not sure what to do with the brand new guest, despite the fact that they had been close friends for over five years.  
  
"Are you alright? You're so thin! Have they been feeding you enough?" Asked Mrs. Weasley, babbling about his state of dress and build for another five minutes as she dragged him into the house, not even bothering to give him time to answer. Harry attempted to straighten his oversized sweater, but it did him little good; It was true, he had not been eating or sleeping as much as a sixteen year old should, but that had nothing to do with the Dursleys. Obsessions, both of grief and for distraction, had kept him occupied, the needs of his body often being taken care of as the last of his daily tasks.  
  
He was ushered to the table and plied with food, of which he ate, more to stop Mrs. Weasley from fussing over him then real hunger.   
  
"So..." said Ron slowly, sinking into a chair beside him. "How has your summer been?" Harry fixed his eyes on the tall red-head, who looked like he would rather be asking any other question, but was being held by the bonds of friendship to inquire such things.  
  
"Fine. A bit quiet, but busy." He replied after a moment's thought, chewing through a thick mouthful of bacon. "Yours?"  
  
"Er, fine. Just as usual you know. The twins have started their own business, and live above their shop instead of at home, so I guess its been quiet here too, relatively. Except for the whole week when Mum found out that Ginny had a boyfriend. She nearly keeled over. She's much too over protective..."  
  
"Is Ginny still going out with Dean?" Asked Harry.  
  
"No...they broke up a bit ago." Said Ron, looking a bit shifty eyed. "Good choice, if you ask me. She's dating a guy that lives in the next town over now." Harry nearly snorted; he doubted very much that Ginny had decided to up and well dump Dean of her own will. More likely, she had broken up with him at her older brother's 'insistence.'  
  
"So...Hermione said you've been writing her about elves. What's gotten into you? I thought you thought that house elves should not be freed if they didn't want to be." Harry paused. He had not told Hermione, nor anyone else what he had seen. They would go into hysterics that Harry was seeing visions of Voldemort at all; then Hermione would start making up wild theories (which might not be such a bad thing, he had found nothing researching on his own), and Ron would just worry that he had gone bloody mad and would get more and more distant as time passed. Ron was a good friend, who would always stand by his companions, but on the social aspects of support he was slightly lacking.  
  
As for telling anyone else, he was beginning to find himself trusting Dumbledore much less then he had been the last few years of his life, the events of the previous year still fresh in his mind; added to his anger that still was directed at the older wizard, it put Dumbledore far out of the question. Mrs. Weasley would turn immediately to the Headmaster, as would Tonks or any of the others. Maybe Remus would not, but the werewolf had enough problems of his own, and Harry would feel guilty for piling more upon him.  
  
Sirius would not tell, but Sirius was...  
  
No.   
  
"I thought about it...and...changed my mind." Harry replied, hoping that he passed the lie over well. The look Ron gave him, however, told him that he had failed in that aspect horribly.  
  
"Alright, what's wrong?" Luckily, Harry was saved from replying by Mrs. Weasley's voice raising in delight. Both boys looked towards the kitchen door to see Hermione bound in.   
  
"Hello!" She told them cheerfully, flanked by Crookshanks. She gave them each a swift hug, before flopping down in another chair. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as Hermione's appearance turned the conversation away from him, and towards the bushy-haired girl and her summer, which had been spent in the Caribbean.   
  
'You're not off the hook yet.' Thought Ron, glancing at the small boy that was one of his best friends. Hermione caught his glance, and frowned, and the two friends decided silently that they would find out what was troubling Harry's mind, hell or high water.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Hinomi: Eeep! :hides: It's longer, don't hurt me! XD Your welcome. Hope you enjoy this one as much.  
  
Lady-of-the-Rings: Yeah, I love him. He's fun to write. ^^ I'm glad you love it! It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside....like I had just swallowed a kitten. ;)  
  
Just Another Lazy Reviewer: Don't worry, I'm lazy too. XD I'm glad you like it!!  
  
Little Witch: X3 I'm glad you don't object to dragging him here too! I want him to be my Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher...;-; Thankies!  
  
Yavie: Here! Another chapter for you to enjoy! At least, I hope you enjoy it. I'm glad you love it! ^___^ It makes my day.  
  
Black Queen: :faints: Tolkien-like but lighter? You're all too kind. I'm sorry that it's a bit confusing, but its needed so that you can connect with the characters. Don't worry, everything will be explained in plain English soon...as soon as I figure out what the heck is happening my self. I'm glad you like it! ^___^!!  
  
Ashly Potter: Yeah, I never got that myself. I'm glad its not confusing to someone! ^^ Here's the update for you! ((Wow, an update that didn't take two months!))  
  
Sweet Taloa: I couldn't help it. They are two of my favorite characters! =D Yeah, I'm surprised I updated too. @_@ This is the first story that I've updated so often. It must be because it is so much fun to write!!  
  
Aurumlupi: Yesh, no romance. X3 The only pairings I like are either slash or Harry/Hermione, both which would 1) cause several readers who would enjoy it to avoid the story, 2) would add a lot more problems that would completely clutter the already busy plot, drawing it away from the main issue. I'm glad you are interested, and hope that this chapter holds up to your standards! 


	6. Chapter Five: Tales and Suspicions

Chapter Five: Tales and Suspicions  
  
Disclaimer: None of them belong to me, sadly. All characters are (c) J.K. Rowling and the Tolkien Estate.  
  
Author's Notes: Dear. Freaking. Hell. An actual update! My muses dragged in at two o'clock this morning, smelling of vomit, cheap beer and cigars. They have been taken care of with astonishing gentleness until their hangovers subsided, and then were forced to drink a pint of salt water in pure 1700's navy tradition, even though only one of them has ever sailed in his life.  
  
Oh well.  
  
I'm extremely sorry for the lack of updates; this chapter would just not write, and I'm still not fond of it. And the sorting hat song, just to warn you, sucks. I am not a poet, thus it is very short. Probably the shortest in history. Sadly, I am sick and do not have time to reply to everyone's reviews right now, so, just to clarify:  
  
REVIEWERS! I love you!!!!!!!!  
  
*****  
  
It was on the Hogwarts Express that Hermione and Ron finally were able to coroner Harry, for their compartment was the only place where he was unable to escape from a conversation. The boy sat across the way from them, looking much like a man in front of a jury that would decide his fate.   
  
"So, are you going to explain all of this or not?" snipped Ron, annoyed at his friend's lack of communication.  
  
"What do you mean?" Asked Harry, though his façade of innocence was easily seen through.   
  
"You know what we mean." Shot back Hermione. "You have been acting all strange, staying up late and sleeping all day, eating only when forced, always reading..."  
  
"Like you're one to talk. When's the last time you put your book down to actually talk to us like a normal person?" He retorted hotly.  
  
"Harry!" Cried Hermione, tears welling up in her eyes at the harsh comment, making the teenage boy bite his tongue in regret.  
  
"What has gotten into you?" Barked Ron, glaring at Harry.  
  
Harry heaved a sigh, running his hands through his hair, eyes squeezed shut. "I'm sorry, sorry...I...I just..." He sighed again, before telling them all he knew.  
  
*****  
  
Aragorn found himself picking at the collar of his robes nervously, a habit that he thought he had lost after childhood. Normally public appearances were a breeze. In his lives he had been both king and general, a communal symbol of hope; yet he had never had to stand in front of the critical eye of hundreds of children, who all looked at him with evaluating eyes, waiting for him to slip up, to show a hint of evil or powerlessness that would mark him yet another one timer in the school's position of the teaching of Defense Against the Dark Arts.   
  
The older children were piling in now; he had not seen so many children in one place at one time since his own school days at Kingfisher, a small Wizarding school in the east United States. They showed no shame in staring at him like he was a new attraction in a circus, whispering thoughts and guesses as to his origins to one another.   
  
He sighed, turning his gaze to the cloudy ceiling, which was spitting out a torrential rain that disappeared before touching the heads of the assembled crowd. The rain had kept on in such a manner since he had stepped foot in the castle, keeping him cooped up inside. He ached to scout the grounds, especially the dark forest that fringed them; the warnings of Dumbledore were clear in his mind, yet something about the forest drew him too it, bugging the back of his mind constantly as if he should remember it from some where. Sometimes his dreams wandered there too, amongst the dark trunks, following a golden-haired figure as he hunted for his supper, and sang songs in Elvish that caused Aragorn's heart to wrench, but dreams can never be trusted; they taunted him with images of his past friends. Frodo laughed with Sam as they poured over textbooks, young adults hurrying past them to their various classes, while Merry and Pippin chatted and joked in Muggle restaurants, having sword fights with their french fries; Boromir searched the car of a teenage boy whom he had pulled over, a Muggle Police badge shining on his chest, ironically in one of the spots where an arrow had pierced his body, and finally Geoffrey stood among the tents and dust of an archeological dig, supervising as his workers brushed at pieces of bone and clay immortalized in the dust, occasionally studying the pieces himself, comparing them to photographs in his dusty book.   
  
"Aragorn? Are you alright?" Came a voice from his right, shaking him out of his thoughts. He turned to meet the severe yet almost grandmotherly gaze of Minerva McGonagall.   
  
"Yes, I am fine." He replied automatically, smiling. She cocked an eyebrow at him, a disbelieving look on her face. Fidgeting a bit, feeling almost like he was a child again under Lord Elrond, he turned back to the children of the Great Hall, who all had settled at their various tables, waiting patiently as Professor Sprout carried a three-legged stool and a musty old hat out in front of the head table. Aragorn looked on in interest as the small eleven year old wizards stumbled nervously into the room; he had heard of the Sorting Hat of Hogwarts before, but had never seen it in action.  
  
Suddenly, much to the shock of the first years, the hat shook itself, and a rip opened itself wide, half-singing, half-chanting, weaving its warning once more.  
  
"Gryffindors, be not rash in word and action;  
  
Hufflepuffs, do not let your heart blind;  
  
Ravenclaws, look down not on your fellows;  
  
Slytherins, let not power and pride bind.  
  
War brews on the horizion;  
  
Under one banner all must stand.  
  
Side by side, no conflicts between  
  
We will be an army grand."  
  
Silence fell upon the assembled crowd, all expecting it to say more, but the rip closed tightly together like the hat was pursing his lips, and nearly everyone could feel the tension in the room. It seemed to be waiting for someone in the crowd to do or say something, and was quite unhappy when no one budged.  
  
Slowly, the crowd of children began to applaud, a polite, quick paced clapping, but it only seemed to put the hat in a fouler mood.  
  
Professor Sprout straightened up after giving the hat a confused glance, peering over her glasses at the list. "Avon, Patrick."   
  
The sorting begun.  
  
*****  
  
The second the feast ended, and Hermione had made sure that all the little first years had made it safely to Gryffindor tower, she raced to the library, tugging Ron and Harry with her.   
  
"They should be around here somewhere..." She bit her lip in concentration, running her index finger along the bindings of the books. "Right about...here." Her finger met empty space, causing her to frown heavily.   
  
"We've been in the building all of two hours and someone has already checked out the books we want. Figures." Muttered Ron, leaning against the opposite bookshelf.  
  
"That's insane." Cried Hermione. "I am the only person in ten years to check out that book!"  
  
"With good reason." Retorted the lanky red head. "You're the only one nutty enough to fall in love with a bunch of pointy-eared goblins." Hermione ignored him, leading the way back down the aisle. "Who else would check it out already?" she wondered aloud, sounding very put out.  
  
Harry paused as they turned the coroner. Slowly moving backwards, he peeked back down the row. "How about a Death Eater?" He whispered, straitening back up. Hermione and Ron stared at him, both peering around the coroner quickly to see a tall figure replacing a book.  
  
"The new DADA teacher?" asked Ron in a hushed voice. Harry put a finger to his lips, quickly glancing down the row again. A few seconds later he made a motion for the two to follow him. They walked back down the row, trying to look innocent as possible. Harry reached the spot where the professor was standing first, and pulled out an old, heavy book.   
  
"This the book you were looking for Hermione?" He hefted it from his left hand to right, so that he could look at the title. Scrawled in gold were the words 'Elves: Myth, Fact, and Origins.'  
  
"Yes!" She cried, pulling it from his hand before casting a glance around. "You think..." Ron and Harry both hurriedly shushed her.   
  
"Alright, let's go check it out, shall we?" Said Ron loudly. Ron and Hermione made their way to the front desk while Harry paused, pretending to look at a book, while gazing out of the coroner of his eye at the tall, dark-haired man that was sitting at one of the library's many oak tables, tapping a finger against his lips, lost in thought. Suspicions rose in his mind, a strange over protectiveness for both his friends and the elf coming over him. He would not be so easily tricked this time.  
  
*****  
  
"Do you really think he's a death eater?" Asked Hermione, the second they got into the Room of Requirement, which had made itself into a cozy little room, with a nice fireplace and comfy chairs in which the trio could sit.   
  
"Why else would someone, sans you, would look up elves? Do you really think he's another elf-freeing fanatic?" replied Ron.  
  
"It's too much of a coincidence." Added Harry. "I see the elf getting...well...transformed, in front of a group of Death Eaters, and suddenly a brand new DADA professor comes out of nowhere and is interested in elves." Hermione frowned, staring into the orange hues of the fire.   
  
"No doubt that Voldemort's got everyone he can after that poor guy. I know I would if someone stabbed me in the eye." Said Ron.  
  
"Alright then. We need to be careful then. Do not speak anything even mildly suspicious around the new professor, and watch him closely." Hermione began, tapping her fingers on the leather cover of the book. "I'll find out everything I can about where the elves came from, and try to find that book Voldemort had; it might be in the restricted section, but we can find a way to work around that. Invisible cloak if necessary. Meanwhile, Harry, keep an eye on your dreams; even if we cannot trust them completely, we may be able to get something out of them. We have to find that elf before Voldemort does." Harry and Ron both nodded, surprised at the authoritive tone that Hermione's voice had taken.  
  
"Yes Mum. Right away." Muttered Ron as they got up to leave, causing Hermione to slap him lightly with the book. Harry smiled, suddenly glad to be back among his friends in the one place he would care to call home. 


	7. Chapter Six: Hunting and Consequences

Chapter Six: The Hunt and the Consequences  
  
Disclaimer: None of them belong to me, sadly. All characters are (c) J.K. Rowling and the Tolkien Estate.  
  
Author's Notes: Well, here's another chapter. Things will start going faster from here, hopefully.   
  
Also, is anyone interested in being my beta reader? I need some one who is a fierce grammarian, has good spelling skills, and doesn't mind long detailed talks about plots. ^__^ Please e-mail me or drop a review if you'd like to help. =)  
  
*****  
  
"Are you sure?" Voldemort loomed over his kneeling follower, his single red eye narrowing to a slit.  
  
"Yes sir. We have taken his blood and traced him to the Forbidden Forest." Bellatrix replied, gazing up at her master with wild eyes. Voldemort turned, gazing at the crackling fireplace.  
  
"He must not get under the protection of Dumbledore. Assemble the best, and hunt the pointy-eared varmint down. Do not come back until you have him, and I do not care who or what it costs to bring him bound and gagged to my feet. Understand?" The dark haired woman nodded enthusiastically.   
  
"Of course, my Lord." She scuttled out of the room, her eyes flashing from behind the faceless mask she wore. "Time to play."   
  
*****  
  
Hermione was nearly bouncing off the walls of the Great Hall the next morning as she received her schedule. "I got into all of the N.E.W.T.'s Classes I wanted!" she crowed as Ron and Harry joined her for breakfast. A lump rose up in Harry's throat. He had been so occupied with grieving and elf studies over the break that he had ignored the majority of his letters; he now realized that he did not even know what his O.W.L. scores were. He looked at the sheet of paper at his spot at the table nervously; the classes on the list would determine whether he had any chance at being an Auror or not.   
  
His hands shook as he opened the piece of paper. He scanned it quickly. Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, all at N.E.W.T. level, plus a few general courses. His mouth grew dry as he read down the list. At the end of the list, in the calm, bold letters the schedule was written it, was scrolled: N.E.W.T. Level Potions. He sighed heavily, half in shock, half in relief.  
  
"Hey, let me see your schedule mate." Said Ron, holding out his free hand; his other held both his and Hermione's schedules already.   
  
"Sure." He replied, with a smile, sinking into his chair and helping himself to the bacon. Ron began to list off all the classes they had in common, along with his own comments on the classes.  
  
"You and Hermione have Potions together. I didn't get into it; I only got a 'fair.' Well, at least it means I won't have to deal with Snape...Advanced Arithmancy, Hermione, are you mad?" While Hermione defended her class choice, Harry gazed out the window; the clouds still took up much of the sky, but it was no longer raining. The sun peered out almost hesitantly, lighting up the grounds with a dreary light.  
  
"Man, we have to go outside after lunch. We've got Care of Magical Creatures, and it's all muddy. Why are we still taking that anyway? None of us are going into anything involving animals." Pointed out Ron.  
  
"One, it's Hagrid's class. He'd feel bad if we didn't take it. Two, you never know when you'll have to deal with a wild creature in your future. I know Harry wants to be an Auror, and they have to be ready for everything. It's a safety precaution." Replied Hermione.  
  
"More like a safety hazard." Ron retorted. "Hey, Harry, you alright? You're being all quiet." Harry blinked, breaking out of his thoughts.   
  
"Yeah, I'm fine." He said, for once honest. He had begun sleeping better now that he was at Hogwarts; he had spent the night vision free for once, instead having a peaceful dream about walking down a beach with white sand, allowing the waves to come up around his ankles, the sea spray gently misting his entire being. "What do we have right now?"  
  
"Defense Against the Dark Arts." Silence enveloped the three as they exchanged ominous looks.   
  
"This is going to be interesting." Muttered Hermione. She stood first, picking up her bag, and the too boys followed suit.  
  
*****  
  
Every bit of the forest was tense, and as a forest creature himself, Legolas was no different. Dark whispers were tossed from tree to tree, speaking a warning. It was not for him, no; this forest did not care what happened to one small elf in their midst. They had more important things to protect. They did not, however, close their conversations off to him, so he heard the dark tidings all the same. Something was coming, and the forest knew that it boded ill.  
  
He moved through the trees like an assassin does shadow, creeping closer to the castle that he knew lay on the edge of the forest. He loathed to leave the safety of the trees, but he knew there were some things which the trees could not, and would not, protect him from. Already he had experienced the ferocity of the spiders that roamed the forest; only millennia of experience with the creatures allowed him to escape.   
  
His hands tightened on his makeshift weapons, two sticks of thick wood sharpened into stakes. He hovered at the edge of the wood, and waited for his enemies to make themselves know.  
  
*****  
  
Never before had Aragorn had such a great desire to be a student again; he desperately wished that he could skip his own class, with only a detention to pay for it, and go roaming outside. Possibly it was his upbringing in Rivendell, an open, airy place where you were never but a few steps away to an open window, but he hated being cooped inside; the week without even a garden to stroll through had nearly drove him mad. Now he was expected to teach a class.   
  
He gave a glance to the stack of papers that were neatly piled onto his desk. He had taught a few classes before, but those were geared toward serious archeologist (not to mention muggle) students. He fidgeted with the sleeves of his robes, waiting nervously for the first batch of kids to turn up.  
  
They began to arrive about five minutes later, after the first bell had rung. They came in clumps, desperately trying to acquire seats near their friends. They each wore the school uniform, accessorized with a gold and red tie that showed them members of the Gryffindor house. They watched him like cats did a mouse hole in the wall, waiting for any twitch or sudden movement. Aragorn calmed his nervous mind and set his face to one normally used before giving speeches to the court of Gondor, and waited for the second bell to ring.  
  
Three children, the last to enter the room, caught his eye more so than the others; one, he was certain that he had heard of: the legendary Harry Potter, all of sixteen, with intelligent green eyes and a scar just visible underneath his bangs. It saddened Aragorn that this boy was the one who the world looked at to save them all; he was too young for such a role. Aragorn had no doubt, however, that the boy would live up to his name; he had seen the smallest of folk climb the highest of obstacles, and live to tell of the miracles they had done.  
  
His friends were complete opposites; one was lanky and tall, redheaded, while the other was around Harry's height, with bushy brown hair that framed a serious face. One thing all three had in common; he was certain that he saw suspicion, even stronger than that of their classmates, gleam in their eyes. He dismissed however, as the second bell rang. He took a deep breath, and began class.   
  
  
  
*****  
  
"Most often, this spell is used by curse breakers to indicate the kind of curse they are-" The door of the classroom was pushed open forcefully. A rather frazzled McGonagall stood in the doorway.  
  
"Professor Telcontar, Dumbledore requests that all the teachers report to the Infirmary Ward immediately. He asked for you especially." The entire class turned as one to see their teacher's reaction. His eyebrows drew together in confusion, but he nodded, motioning to the class without taking his eyes off the woman in the doorway.  
  
"Class, we shall continue this discussion next class period. Please read pages 4-9 and do the assessment questions. Dismissed." He strode across the room purposefully as the students scrambled to gather up their things, and followed the beckoning McGonagall.  
  
"What is it?" He asked her, as soon as they stepped out of earshot of the classroom.   
  
"Dark Wizards attacked someone in the forest. He managed to escape them and stumble to Hagrid's cabin. Hagrid carried him up here, for he passed out. It's lucky for the both of them that the wizards did not decide to simply take out Hagrid to. I think his new 'class project' frightened them off, at least for now."  
  
"Why am I needed? To set up a defense?" He questioned.   
  
"No, that is being taken care of right now. Our problem is who the Death Eaters attacked." Aragorn raised an eyebrow.   
  
"Poppy was tending to the boy, who by all rights, considering to all the things that hit him, should be dead, and ran a simple blood test on him to check to see if he had any trace of magical poisoning."  
  
"The problem?"  
  
"The problem is, he is not human." She paused to let it sink in, and was surprised when he did not react. "No one knows what he is."  
  
"He looks human?" He asked, deep in thought.  
  
"Yes, mostly."  
  
"What are the differences?"  
  
"Well, he seems to have a glow on his skin; his ears are pointed, I think. At least that is what Poppy said. He seems to have an amazing resistance to magic. Another strange thing, when he lapsed into a normal sleep after Poppy did some major counter curse work, he never closed his eyes." She paused, suddenly realizing that Aragorn had stopped dead in the middle of the hallway.   
  
"Pointed ears? Slept with his eyes open?" He asked shakily.   
  
"Yes, why?" She never got her answer, for at that point Aragorn broke into a sprint, disappearing down the hall. "Aragorn!" She snapped, hiking up the hem of her robes to follow him as fast as her feet would carry her.  
  
Aragorn skidded to a halt outside the infirmary door; he did not wish to invoke the wrath of the healer by bursting noisily into her ward. He took a deep breath and stepped inside.   
  
"Aragorn, you're here." Said Dumbledore, not even looking up from his place at one of the many bedsides in the room. A few other professors were gathered around, whispering amongst themselves. "Come have a look at this boy, will you?" Aragorn bit his lip, praying to the Valar that he was not wrong.   
  
He felt as if the next steps were the longest he had ever taken in his life. He peered over the headmaster's shoulders, and his mind reeled.   
  
"I see by your face that you know something about what this boy is." Said Dumbledore, studying the taller man. McGonagall, who had caught up with him after his hesitation by the door, fixed him with a powerful glare.  
  
"What is it? Is he a danger to the students or ourselves?" Aragorn barely held in a laugh at the absurdity of her question.   
  
"If you refrain from attacking him, he will not attack you, and will be quite civil about negotiations, even if he will not trust a single move you make. And no, he will not harm the children under any circumstances."   
  
"Still, what is he?" Snipped Poppy, as if she did not believe him.  
  
"You would not believe me if I told you, I am afraid, for I severely doubt any of you have heard of or seen one of his kin uninflected by the curse until now."   
  
"Humor us." Aragorn smiled down at the sleeping figure tucked under several layers of pristine sheets.  
  
"That, m'lady, is Legolas Greenleaf, a pure and honest to God elf."  
  
Next Time: When the Trio find out that their mysterious elf is in the infirmary, and worse, their Death Eater professor has insisted on keeping a watch over him, they'll do anything to save him.  
  
****  
  
LotR-PotC-HP-Number1Fan: I'm glad you love it, but sorry, no romances. I'm terrible at them. ;-;  
  
Andine: He knows everything about elves, but next to nothing about the curse they are under. =) And I'm trying, believe me. ^^  
  
Gavroche Rules: Yay! I'm glad you like it!  
  
espergirl04: Yes, poor Aragorn. =) He's going to have even more problems with them now! ^_^; Oh, and only the Fellowship, due to the fact that they are all connected, are reborn. They cannot truly pass on until all nine have died, and well, two are immortal. =D  
  
Kata Malfoy: Soon enough? =D! I'm really happy that you liked it.  
  
Sangfroid: Wow! You liked the sorting hat song? Yay! I'm such a horrible poet. =D Ooo, you sound like a great beta...if you had the time, maybe? If not, that's okay. ^_^  
  
insanechildfanfic: Thank you. =)  
  
Perfect-Skye: Heeheee. They'll figure out what a great guy he is eventually. Thanks for the comment.  
  
Liaranne: You get a bag of cookies for guessing it! =D I hope it's still as good after this last chapter. -gulp-  
  
NothinToBelieve: Thank you. =)  
  
Sweet Taloa: I'm sorry! -bow bow- =D Here's another chapter for you though!  
  
Lady-Of-The-Rings: Yesh, lots more Aragorn. n_n And Legolas too!  
  
Yavie Aelinel: No, don't die! O_O -rushes to hospital- Heee. Glad you like it. =D  
  
just another stupid idiot: Here's more for you! I guess you could call it 'fun...' -grins evilly- ((And I don't think you're a stupid idiot like your name says. ^___^))  
  
Alphaskiier: Glad you liked last chapter, and I hope this one is alright as well. =\ I'm so nervous about them! I feel they are kind of sucky. ;-;  
  
Please, if you haven't already, or even if you have, Review! I love you forever. =) 


	8. Chapter Seven: Missions and Meetings

Alright, I hope this chapter is not too horrible...you can thank Erin and L, my two lovely betas for this chapter getting done. looks nervously at Erin, who is threatening her with Fiction boot camp Oh, the girl who shows up in this chapter is a PLOT DEVICE. Meaning, she will NOT, in all probability, be showing up again, unless I desperately need someone to accidentally do something. She shall not turn into a Mary- Sue, I swear!

Chapter 7: Missions and Meetings  
  
Dean Thomas would have helped anyone that had sprained their ankle on the stairs (except, perhaps, a couple select Slytherins), but the fact that this particular girl was as cute as a button was an added bonus. Disregarding the voice of McGonagall, that boomed down the halls, insisting that everyone report to their houses immediately, he and the fifth year Ravenclaw limped towards the infirmary, the girl leaning heavily on his shoulder.  
The trip was rather quiet, which, as he later mused, was the reason that they were able to overhear the end of conversation taking place in the infirmary.  
"-an elf." Dean recognized the voice as belonging to his new Defense against the Dark arts teacher. Several snorts of laughter followed his words.  
"Aragorn," The sharp voice of Professor McGonagall cut through the laughter. "This is no time for humor." Professor Telcontar's voice was as grave as McGonagall's when he replied.  
"I'm quite serious, Minerva. This is an elf, untouched by the curse that holds the majority of his kind in its grasp today."  
"That is silly. If it is a curse, why haven't those who study elves found out about it? I have certainly never heard of elves being 'cursed' before I walked into this room. The scientists at the Ministry would have already found such a thing, and broken it, if that were true." Snape's voice was cool and logical, but Dean was certain that he was sneering.  
"They would have found if it was a wizard's curse, yes, but who ever said wizards are the only ones with the powers of magic?" Replied Aragorn. Dean's imaginative mind had no problem in envisioning the two wizards standing face to face, glares flashing even as they spoke in kindly tones to one another.  
Dean was torn away from the conversation by a persistent tug on his sleeve. The Ravenclaw who he had been escorting was quite pale, and looked about to burst into tears. Dean apologized profusely, pushing open the door to the infirmary, leading the girl in.  
The teachers all turned to look at the pair as one, halting all discussion. "Oh dear." Murmured Madame Pomfrey, instantly fluttering over to inspect the girl's ankle. "Help her sit down, dear, there's a good lad." Dean stepped back as the healer took over, turning his attention to the group of teachers, who Dumbledore was dismissing. McGonagall left with a 'humph' and a small glare at the Headmaster, while Snape merely sneered and stomped out. Soon, Dean could see the bed they had been surrounding.  
Laying on it was a boy, most likely around 18-20, if Dean had to guess. His hair lay about his head in shoulders in a messy bunch of silvery- gold that reminded the teen sharply of Veela hair. His face, to any artist's view, such as Dean's, was of strange proportions that managed to balance each other out perfectly; it gave Dean the goose bumps. Most disturbingly, however, the boy's large eyes were half open, staring blankly into space, like one too many of the corpses Dean had seen in newspapers and books. He shivered, turning away, but before he walked out, he caught the last of the conversation between Dumbledore and his DADA professor.  
"Albus, I must ask if I can be allowed to stay. I want to make sure that he does not get startled or spooked and think that we are keeping him hostage." There was a long pause, then, "Certainly, Aragorn. Perhaps it shall be for the best." Dean hurriedly returned to Gryffindor tower, eager to share the news with his fellow classmates.

Waking from a dead, dreamless sleep is a rather odd feeling, mused Legolas,  
as he became aware of sunlight in his eyes. No wonder it took humans so long  
to get up and about in the morning. It took him a while to remember what had  
sent him into such a sleep, and when he did, he sat bolt upright, suddenly  
alert to every little noise his ears could capture. Wind outside. Mouse  
skittering under the bed. Scratching of quill in the room to his right.  
Faded footsteps outside of the room, retreating. An owl's hoot. A loud snore  
to his left.  
He snapped his head sideways to examine the origin of the snore, taking in  
the fact that he was in a long, open room lined with beds on the way.  
Suddenly, he felt quite cold, another new experience to add to his quickly  
mounting list. 'Let 'not believing my own eyes' be added to that list as  
well.' Murmured the still functioning part of his brain.  
If he had not attended the funeral of Elessar Telcontar personally, and  
seen his lifeless body forever held in a cold sleep with his own eyes, he  
would have sworn the man in front of him was none other than Aragorn, son of  
Arathorn.  
He made no sound audible to any mortal ear as he climbed off the bed,  
approaching the sleeping man like a child does a strange dog, ignoring the  
pain flashing through his side and chest. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as  
he reached out a long hand. Just before his fingers brushed against skin, a  
strong, tanned hand secured itself around his wrist, halting all progress.  
Ten seconds later, a surprisingly quiet wrestling match was in full order.  
Aragorn's drowsy mind did not take well to being awoken by instinct, and  
was having an issue figuring out just who he was wrestling, and more  
importantly, why. By the time it did, he was pretty sure he had a few  
bruises forming.  
"Legolas! Halt!" He demanded in the Elvish tongue. Hearing the fair  
language of his people, Legolas did as he was commanded; however, whether he  
did it out of Aragorn's tone of voice or shock of hearing Elvish was unsure.  
There was a moment's pause, before the elf snapped back, "Who are you?"  
Aragorn chuckled, standing, and dislodging the elf in the process. Legolas  
copied his actions, leaving them standing face to face, Aragorn amused,  
Legolas glaring.  
"Do you not recognize me?" He asked, spreading his hands out in front of  
him in the universal sign of peace. He spoke in a calm voice, like one  
who is talking to a spooked stallion.  
"I recognize who you pretend to be." Replied the elf, voice steady, though  
his hands were shaking.  
"Legolas," reprimanded Aragorn gently. "I pretend to be no one. I am  
Aragorn, your friend. We met in Rivendell, remember, when I bowled you over  
in an effort to get away from the twins and my well deserved tickling spell.  
You helped me when I struggled with archery. You were one of us, the  
Fellowship; almost every night you'd sing for the hobbits. You wore green at  
my coronation." He spoke of things that few people knew, with a confidence  
that threw any doubt of identity. Legolas' stone like resolve dissolved away like   
sand washes from the shore, and Aragorn swore he caught the hint of a tear   
in his cat-like eyes.  
"Forgive me for doubting." Legolas apologized, voice shaky.  
"There is nothing to forgive." Aragorn replied, placing a hand on the elf's  
shoulder. Both chuckled a bit in remembrance of the last time those words  
had been spoken, more in relief than humor.  
Legolas did not return the motion, and instead enveloped the human into a  
hug, which Aragorn returned immediately. He had forgotten how strong elves  
were; the embrace left his lungs complaining from maltreatment.   
"I am glad to see you again, _mellon_. "Aragorn said with a smile. Legolas  
grinned back, his eyes still sparkling. "Gimli will be glad to hear of you as well."   
"Gimli's alive? Ai, Valar! That is wonderful!" He held his side  
unconsciously, feeling a little dizzy from the finding of his two closest  
friends.  
"Come on, enough excitement for you. You got bombarded pretty heavily with  
spells, and if the Madame Pomfrey sees you standing she will skin me alive."  
Legolas smirked, but did as he was asked.  
"Aragorn?" He asked, once he laid down, a soft expression of confusion on  
his face.  
"Yes?"  
"Where are we?" "What do we do?" Asked Hermione for the tenth time since they had heard Dean's story, looking panicked from her spot on Harry's bed. "The elf from your dream is in there, but we can't just go barging in, I mean, Professor Telcontar is there, a Death Eater, and he could take us down easily-well, maybe not, but we can't take that risk! And we can't go to Dumbledore, because we don't have enough solid evidence, and this dratted book is not helping!" She motioned to the large book on her lap. Ron frowned, looking at her, then at Harry, who was  
brooding.  
"We need somebody to distract him, but not one of us, or any of the students,  
because then he'll know we're up to something, but someone who can easily  
disappear in the castle and not be found for long periods of time."  
"Not a student? That means teachers are off limits too, even if we could get one to help." Hermione sighed. "Who does that leave?"  
"Erm, guys?" Both turned to look at Ron. "What about them? We definitely  
never see them around." He pointed to Hermione's book.  
"...a house elf?" Asked Hermione, frowning.  
"Ron, you're brilliant!" crowed Harry. Ron grinned, pleased with the  
praise. "Come on, we need to track down Dobby." He grabbed his invisibility  
cloak, and the Gryffindor Trio departed, their mission set firmly into their  
minds. To all my reviewers, thank you very much! I love you all! =) I hope you continue to like this story, and not kill me because I'm a lazy arse. 


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